somehow this seems right for this april, so similar to last year's in so many ways, but really so completely utterly different and whole. we watched this at my house post-dinner pre-bed and for the intermediality of our internet-obsessed generation and literature student selves, it was pretty much bliss.

for me, it's about no longer feeling broken, and realising what you bring to the table. it's about taking the other person for what they are: a person, not an ideal, not a daydream, but warm flesh and blood that holds you through the night; a person, who is not everything, but something, and some things.

litany by billy collins

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.